by Jules Wake
The market only provided so much of a distraction and when the cold began to seep in I turned and headed for home. There were still a couple of hours before I needed to go to work. Suddenly I wanted the solace of my viola. To lose myself in music.
Turning so quickly I barrelled into a couple coming the other way, who were luckily so full of festive cheer that they brushed aside my desperate apologies.
As soon as I got home which, thanks to magic Mike the plumber’s ministrations, was now very toasty, I literally dropped my coat, hat, scarf and gloves in a Hansel and Gretel trail as I walked through to my music room. With my usual ritual I unclicked the locks of the case and reached for my viola, sliding it into place and closing my eyes as I lifted my bow. I took the breath, the familiar pause and then touched the bow to the strings. Some Vivaldi first because it was second nature, straight into Spring, familiar, easy notes that came without having to think or work. As I warmed up, thoughts of Nate began to seep in and I could feel anger itching in the tips of my fingers. I changed my tune, literally, bursting into Ride of the Valkyries, playing with angry intensity before moving onto the darker Holst’s Mars, plying my bow with stealthy rage. Bringer of War matched my mood and, although I was only playing the strings, I could hear the full orchestration in my head, percussion, brass and woodwind. I played with a manic fervour, feeding the pent-up rage at the injustice of it all.
It took a while for the banging on the door to penetrate. If it hadn’t been for the vehemence of the knocking I would have ignored it, but I could tell whoever it was wasn’t going to go away. At first I thought it might be Bella; it had the hallmarks of her persistence. Then I wondered if it was Nate. No, Elaine wouldn’t be letting him out of her sight any time soon. She’d marked her territory good and proper.
The banging was continuing when I got to the front door.
‘OK, OK, I’m coming,’ I yelled. ‘Give me chance to get to the door.’
I wrenched it open, feeling like my hapless innkeeper and even very nearly shouted George’s lines.
‘Nate!’
‘You took your time.’
‘I was practising. I didn’t hear you.’
‘I could hear you.’ His face softened. ‘Are you OK?’
I blinked. He couldn’t be nice to me; that wasn’t fair. I wanted to be mad at him. Furious.
‘Can I come in?’ When I stared at him, not speaking, he prompted, ‘Viola?’
With a sigh I nodded, not daring to speak. I wanted to turn away and leave him to close the door. Be detached and tough. But I wasn’t built that way. Instead I waited for him to come in and closed the door behind him.
He stood in my lounge, his hair damp, with his big wool city lawyer’s coat over jeans and battered tennis shoes. It struck me that he looked like my Nate … not Mr Nine-to-Five that I’d first seen in a crowded tube.
The expression on his face was solemn and so reminiscent of Grace it hurt to look at him. I think that made it worse. I knew he was hurting as much as I was.
‘I’m sorry that you had to arrive at the house unprepared,’ he said in a ridiculous stiff tone.
‘Nate …’ I tried to interrupt but he held up his hand as if this was a rehearsed speech.
‘I did try to call … several times.’ I caught a glimpse of pain as his shoulders lifted. ‘But you weren’t picking up.’
‘No. Didn’t charge my phone.’
There was a flicker of a smile. ‘What are you like?’
We stared at each other for a moment and then, taking a couple of paces, he stepped away to the other side of the room, holding himself aloof. His mouth kept opening and I could see the dip of his Adam’s apple but he didn’t say anything; instead his gaze kept slipping to the window as if he were desperate to escape.
‘What happened?’ I asked softly, wanting to relieve the burden I could see he was bowed down by.
He sighed, his eyes meeting mine. ‘Can we sit down?’
As soon as he said the words, I knew it was all over. There was a telling resignation to his body language. His shoulders didn’t look so broad, his chin seemed to have receded and his eyes had dulled. The fight in me simply died, without even so much as a whimper.
Like the good girl I’d always been, I sat. My knees together, my hands primly on my lap. This was going to be a grown-up talk. And he sat opposite me, like the good boy, sinking into the armchair, near enough to place a comforting hand on mine but far enough away to maintain the necessary distance and detachment. With bizarre, twisted logic this almost reassured me, the fact that he needed no-man’s land, to keep himself apart from me.
I watched him take a breath, the girding of his loins. Standard preparation to deliver bad news. It reminded me of one of those episodes of Casualty where Charlie – it was always Charlie when I used to watch – has to go in and tell the relatives that someone has died. Nate was about to deliver the death knell.
‘Elaine came home. I wasn’t … there was no warning. The doorbell rang. I opened the door and she was there.’
I could tell from his shocked face he was reliving the moment.
‘And I knew I didn’t love her any more.’ The quiet words were said with calm finality.
Then he looked at me. ‘I love you.’
My heart skipped, missing several beats.
‘And I shouldn’t … I shouldn’t say that because … I’m sorry, Viola, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not fair. Not fair on you.’
‘I know,’ I said, reaching my hand out to touch his. ‘I know.’
We looked at each other with sadness and understanding.
‘It’s Grace.’ He turned his hand, palm up, our hands simply touching, a contact but nothing more.
‘Of course it is,’ I said.
‘I read her note to Father Christmas. She wants her mum. Top of her list. What can I do?’
‘It’s OK.’
He swallowed and looked out of the window again.
‘Elaine’s back. Back from New York. Wants to try again.’ He frowned. ‘We’ve done a lot of talking. She says she realised what she’s thrown away and she … she still loves me.’ I could see that didn’t sit well with him. ‘I didn’t tell her … I didn’t even realise till I saw her.’ His mouth curved downwards. ‘But … Grace needs her mother. We’re a family. I have to try and make my marriage work. Elaine wants to try again. I owe it to her and to Grace to try. To make that commitment. And … you saw Grace …’
I nodded, swallowing hard, and did my best to give him a reassuring smile even though my vision was completely blurred. Mummy’s home! Mummy’s home!
There was a painful silence as we stared at each other. A few tears escaped and I could see the pulse in Nate’s temple, the slight sheen in his eyes and the convulsive swallow.
‘Oh, Viola …’ His fingers curled over mine, hanging on tightly to my hand. ‘Don’t cry, please.’
‘S-sorry, I c-can’t h-help it. I’m sorry.’
With one swift movement he sat down next to me and scooped me onto his lap and I began to cry in earnest while he held me, his lips buried in my hair.
This wasn’t fair on him. I hauled in a breath. And then another and focused on in and out, slow and steady, before looking up at him with tearstained eyes, which I hated because it felt manipulative. I dashed my hands over my face to wipe them away.
‘Sorry.’ I tried to be brisk but then he stroked my face. Even though I knew it was wrong I turned and kissed his palm. He closed his eyes.
It would be so easy to reach up and kiss him and I knew he’d probably respond. One last kiss. But it would still hurt like crazy. There had to be a cut-off point and it had to be now.
As I’d always said, this wasn’t about us. It was about Grace.
I wrenched myself out of his lap and stepped away.
‘I think we probably need to say goodbye,’ I said with a mock cheery, brave smile.
He sighed and hauled himself to his feet, looking worn-out. ‘I guess we do. I c
an’t—’
I held up a hand. ‘Don’t. We could make this into a really long drawn-out goodbye, with explanations, promises to see each other as friends, never see each other again. I think, to use that faithful old cliché … the best thing for us is a clean break. The nativity will be done on Tuesday. End of term on Wednesday and then, three days later, it will be Christmas and by the New Year Grace will have forgotten all about me. Children are resilient, they have short memories and the excitement of having her mum home is going to eclipse this last couple of weeks.’ I said all this as if I had any clue.
‘A clean break, Nate.’ I gave him another fake smile. ‘And you’re a married man. I’d never have been cut out to be a scarlet woman.’
I wish I could say he looked relieved I’d made it easy for him but instead sadness clouded his eyes and he hesitated for a moment. ‘God, I’m sorry. Bye, Viola.’ He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. Touching my lips with one finger. ‘Look after yourself.’
I watched him walk up my basement steps. Half hoping that he would look back, even though I didn’t want him to.
Chapter 29
‘He’ll be here,’ said Tilly, stopping me from my pacing and putting firm hands on my shoulders. ‘There’s still an hour and a half before the parents arrive.’
She kept shooting me worried looks. I’d kept myself ridiculously busy since Saturday and it showed. The bags under my eyes were big enough to pack for a three-week holiday. I’d been wreath-making with Tina on Sunday, present-wrapping with Bella on Sunday evening and I took Ella and Rosa and their cousins to see Frozen II after school last night, so that Bella and Tina could go Christmas shopping at Westfield, which hadn’t turned out to be such a good idea because I sat and cried at all the sad bits, thinking of Grace. And suddenly it was Tuesday and the big day was here and nearly everything was in place. I felt knackered, nervous and excited. The children had worked their socks off and yesterday’s dress rehearsal in front of the whole school had gone perfectly. Please let today, with the parents in the audience, go smoothly.
I looked at the empty space where the backdrop was supposed to be and then down at the stage, which was currently graced by a solitary bale of hay and the hand-built manger that Tilly’s boyfriend Marcus had kindly delivered to the school. I figured he must love Tilly an awful lot to allow hay in his smart Mercedes and to unload the fifty costumes into which Leonie was currently pinning and sewing small children.
Backstage, or rather in Oak and Apple classes, thankfully several mums were helping to keep the lid on the rising hysteria.
George, like me, was pacing, his cheeks already red from his own exertion, mouthing his lines to himself a little wild-eyed. Realising my own rising panic was probably brushing off, I forced myself to take a deep breath and go over and speak to him.
‘You’re going to be brilliant, George.’
‘I feel sick,’ he mumbled.
‘Stage fright. All the best actors get it,’ I said. ‘Seriously, I have seen the most famous opera singers …’ I tried to think of someone he could relate to. ‘You know the Go Compare man?’ I didn’t know the poor bloke from Adam but I didn’t think he’d mind me maligning him in the name of kindness.
George nodded, his eyes still chasing all over the room, not quite meeting mine.
‘He stands on the side of the stage. Quaking. Honest to God, his knees are actually shaking.’
‘Honest, miss?’
‘Honest,’ I lied. ‘It’s a good thing. It means all your adrenaline is going.’
‘I know what drenaline is,’ piped up one of the scrawny little lads who was one of George’s mates, ‘that’s the stuff that makes you perform better, run faster, escape from lions.’ He added with a very knowledgeable nod to show that this was gospel, ‘Saw it on Deadly Dozen.’
‘That’s right,’ I agreed, grateful to see that George had stopped pacing.
‘Did you see the one with the tarantula?’ George’s mate’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. I smiled and left them to an in-depth conversation as to which was more terrifying – finding a tarantula in your bed or coming face to face with a crocodile in the river.
I moved away and then stopped in horror, a small girl – I remembered her from the first rehearsal – demure, perfect plaits. Suggested Away in a Manger and had been scarily well behaved, almost like Wednesday Addams, throughout every rehearsal – was carefully and methodically opening the beautifully wrapped gift of myrrh that the props guys had made for me.
‘No!’ I cried and she looked up, freezing, her hands hovering over the incredibly expensive bronze paper. I snatched the prop from her and she burst into tears.
‘Sorry, sorry.’ I looked to one of the mums who came scurrying over with a reproving tut. ‘Sorry. Very expensive prop. I have to return it to the Opera House.’
‘Well, she didn’t know that,’ said the mum with a calm smile. ‘There, there, Rebecca. It’s OK, you didn’t know.’
And it was OK to open a random present? I turned away, realising I was turning into a right misery.
I moved through into the other classroom, deliberately not seeking out Grace, but a sixth sense hummed and in my peripheral vision I pinpointed exactly where she was in the room. By the window, with Cassie … and oh my God. I did look that way. I couldn’t help it. Oh my God again. I stared at the three-foot wings, trimmed with what looked like real feathers covered in pearlized glitter and tipped with gold paint, shimmering in the weak winter sunshine coming in through the glass. Cassie lifted her head and preened as she caught my astonished gaze. On her head was a large, we’re talking super large, tinsel halo complete with tiny winking fairy lights and she wore a white empire-line dress which fell in heavy folds to the gold sandals at her feet. And in her hand she held a sparkly wand.
I gave her a bland smile and would have turned around but Grace’s steady stare made me stop.
‘Hi Grace, how are you? All ready for today?’
Her eyes glittered and she nodded. ‘Mummy’s coming to watch.’
I smiled and it wasn’t at all forced. ‘That’s lovely. She’ll be so proud of you. The best, bossiest innkeeper’s wife ever.’
She grinned at me and waved a teasing, nagging finger. ‘And don’t you forget it.’
I laughed. It was one of my favourite lines, delivered to George when he had to admit she was always right.
‘My mummy’s coming too,’ said Cassie, tossing her hair over her shoulder and getting it a bit tangled in her wings. ‘She says my costume will be the best.’
I simply nodded and hoped that Leonie wasn’t within earshot. She would be horrified at the manmade fabric, the plastic feathers and the liberal use of inappropriate glitter and I could almost guarantee she’d go ballistic at the sight of the tacky wand.
I breathed a little easier. There, that hadn’t been so bad. I’d seen Grace and she was happy. I wasn’t going to think about Nate. Whether he was happy. The familiar stab of pain, like a stiletto sliding under my ribs, bit hard as I pictured him in my lounge. Stop doing this, I told myself. I sneaked another look at Grace, giggling at something Cassie said.
I went over to the other side of the classroom, where Tilly was doing sterling work; she had a queue of customers and had set up three stations. Two of the mums were helping, following her instructions, stippling rough beards on the shepherds with sponges, and Tilly was hard at work, her fingers deftly stroking and shading grey and white lines to create the donkey.
‘That’s amazing,’ I said, coming to her side.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I haven’t done face-painting for ages. I’d forgotten what fun it is. What do you think?’ She pointed behind her to the oxen, the cows and the three kings, all of whom sported curly moustaches and exotic eye make-up.
‘Fabulous.’ Then I began to laugh. ‘The armadillo is fabulous.’ The props guys had created a little armoured vest with moving parts that clicked and creaked while Tilly had worked wonders to create a thin narrow face
with anxious eyes. Jack waved an excited paw, flexing his back for me, showing off the Jacob’s ladder-like movement of the pieces. ‘I am the holiday armadillo. A desert armadillo.’
My eyes were drawn back to the three kings. Cassie’s mum, eat your heart out. Leonie had done me proud. Each of them wore heavy swirling capes in brilliant silk fabric, one red, one yellow and one royal blue, over purple velvet robes. The design was simple but the richness and generous cut of the fabrics made them look sumptuous and luxurious. Simple, tasteful gold crowns topped their heads. They looked quite magnificent.
Next to them, my quiet stately Mary, little Sarah, looked serene and utterly perfect in her Madonna blue robes and my heart nearly broke when she lifted her head and gave me a shy smile and beckoned me over. From behind her back she brought out a small, beautifully wrapped gift.
‘This is to say thank you.’
‘Oh, Sarah …’ tears pricked my eyes ‘… that’s so kind of you. You didn’t have to do that.’
‘It’s from Mummy really …’ she whispered. ‘She’s really happy because I’ve never been anything before.’
Oh, dear, the tears were coming.
‘Sweetie … you are something.’ I gave her a swift hug. I know you’re not supposed to, I’ve done all the child safeguarding training, but she was just ace.
I needed to get a grip. I’d had barely any sleep since Saturday and my hormones were all over the place today. I was so bloody emotional. At this rate, I’d be blubbing before any of them got on stage.
‘I’m just going to pop outside for a minute,’ I said to Tilly. ‘Get a breath of fresh air.’
‘You all right?’ she asked, shrewdly scanning my face.
‘Bit emotional today,’ I said, feeling my throat starting to close again. I hadn’t told anyone about Nate. I couldn’t bring myself to.
‘It’s your big day; of course you are. And some of this lot are so cute. Mary –’ she squeezed her hands together over her heart ‘– just adorable. And George. I thought he was going to be funny about having his make-up done … By the end he was begging for more lipstick. Quite a character, that one.’ She glanced over towards Cassie. ‘Mascara! Seriously. No way.’
